


Receptacle

by Hijja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 20:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15299814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijja/pseuds/Hijja
Summary: Lucius finds them in the hall that has become the testimony to Lord Voldemort's last stand...





	Receptacle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liriaen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liriaen/gifts).



> A pretty self-gratifying Christmas ficlet for the lovely Liriaen, written in January 2007.

Lucius finds them in the hall that has become the testimony to Lord Voldemort's last stand.

Entire stones have been broken out of the ceiling, pulverised and scattered all over the place, a tribute to the sheer devastation of the Dark Lord's demise. The dust covers everything with white powder: the unmoving shape on the floor, and the live one bent over it. Only the bright red of the moving one's hair reveals him for what he is.

The boy whips around when he hears Lucius' footsteps. Hope blossoms, only to melt into panic, a near-comic grimace with the dirt on his face. His wand is only half up when Lucius' spell rips it from his fingers and knocks it away into the rubble.

The Wesley scrambles to throw himself in front of his friend's body, like a pitiful human shield. "Leave him alone!" he croaks, dust scraping in his voice.

Lucius laughs coldly. "Why bother?"

There's precious little left to do to a fool who thought that destroying a mortal enemy with part of said enemy's soul still lodged inside him was a wise idea. Lucius feels a surge of temptation to let the Cruciatus wash over both, the defiant and the lifeless, until Weasley's spine curves like a bowstring and his screams echo off the battered walls. But there is little time for self-indulgence, and Potter will be dead under Weasley's grubby paws long before any help has hope to arrive. A vengeance more subtle, but no less cruel than Cruciatus; Lucius has experienced its bite with Narcissa and Draco.

He keeps his wand trained on Weasley for another second, then turns to leave.

"Malfoy!"

Lucius looks over his shoulder at Weasley's despairing face, and says nothing. "He's dying." And then, "I don't know what to do!" Yes, that much was evident from the fruitless jumble of 'Sanos!' and 'Ennervate!' Lucius heard while slipping into the hall. And finally comes the plea, sugary like a treat for Lucius to savour and smile. "Help him!"

"I could," he says, taking pleasure in the way the words ring off the walls, lighting up the hopeful, freckled face. "But I won't." Again he turns to the doorway.

"He's just killed the Dark Lord," the Weasley tells his back, saner this time, and a lot more calm. "You help him, and you'll have saved the Saviour of the Wizarding World. The least they'll do is pardon you."

Lucius almost laughs aloud. This slip of a boy, offering him amnesty? Then again, the only cure that might save Potter would make his involvement rather public. Conspicuously public. And while he's resigned himself to fleeing into exile, hounded by the Ministry, the thought of Scrimgeour being forced to hand him a pardon is highly appealing.

He whirls around and takes the steps necessary to loom over the boy. "And what would you give for him?"

The Weasley's most forward freckles are already shining through the dust on his nose. "Everything," he says, not missing a beat.

"Good!" Lucius snarls, irrationally offended at the boy's silly sacrificial spirit. He looks down at the pitiful bundle that is Potter, bleeding from several superficial gashes. Those are harmless; the problem is what lies beneath.

Lucius grabs the Weasley's neck like a kitten's, ignoring his bristling, and drags him closer. "Did your hero Potter teach you Legilimency, or has he kept that knowledge to himself?"

The little blood-traitor licks his cut lip in confusion. "I've never been good at it..."

How unsurprising. "Use whatever you have, and look at him," Lucius orders.

Miraculously, the boy obeys without further fuss. And gasps. Yes, there's no way of overlooking the immense, jagged hole at the core of Potter's self, from which both his magic and his life leak away, second by second.

"Merlin, how-" The boy's voice drips with horror.

"No, you can't fill it," Lucius cuts him off. "He'd suck you dry and you'd both die. We'll be... patching it over. Once he stops draining, he'll be able to replenish his magic and life energy naturally. If he's truly the all-powerful Boy Who Lives." Lucius pulls the Weasley around. "Is he? Or was it only the Prophecy and Dumbledore's high hopes that have kept him breathing?"

The boy's snarl shows enough teeth to do Greyback proud. "He will live!"

Or you'll die trying, Lucius finishes. "You'll feed him your magic, then," he states. "And I'll anchor you so you won't get sucked in."

There's no need to tell the little fool that Lucius will have to channel some of his own considerable power through him, and into Potter as well. Draining Weasley into a dead husk for Potter's sake would not go over well with the Ministry, even less with the Order. There's even less need to tell Weasley about the only way to restore the power balance between them once Potter has recovered and reproduced his own magic. Not yet.

"Will it kill me?" the boy asks softly, and Lucius sneers.

"Second thoughts?" Weasley only shoots him an angry glare. "It'll drain your magic, for months at best; perhaps it'll cost you a few years of your life." Venomously, Lucius adds, "And he's not going to thank you for it, have no illusions. His type of hero never does."

"I don't want him to thank me," Weasley snarls again. "I want him to live."

"Put your hands on his chest, then," Lucius commands. "And then pour your magic into him. Go with the hole's pull, but don't direct it inside - just over it."

He watches as Weasley places his palms over Potter's heart. They are puppy-ish hands, too large yet for the rest of him. He can feel the power begin to surge, too fast, too much fuelled by love and fear, and grabs the boy's neck again, feeling the gangly body stiffen.

"Slow! He's a mindless leech now, and would kill you in a heartbeat. Give him what he needs, not what he wants."

The dirt on Weasley's neck doesn't impede the link snapping into place as Lucius slips into the boy's mind and digs in his mental hooks. Weasley bucks like a hag-ridden dreamer, but then the steady flow of Lucius' own magic spills over him and he relaxes, feeding their joint power into Potter.

While Lucius isn't prepared to donate anything more to this enterprise than he can comfortably spare, he marvels, grudgingly, at Weasley's comportment. He's practically glowing, and Lucius wonders how this most unspectacular of his litter, so much like drab Arthur himself, has managed to hide such power.

It draws Lucius closer, that power, and an unsubtle peek confirms that Weasley is hard, painfully so from the way the front of his battered trousers are tented. Lucius smirks and inches forward, rubbing himself against the boy's buttocks. It's not just Weasley who's affected. Unsurprising, as this is a more intimate joining than that of the flesh could ever be; even if this sort of sex magic is usually employed at the culmination of physical pleasure, not before it.

Weasley moans and wriggles his arse, utterly unawares. His mind is full of Potter, but the sheer depth of this sort of giving... if even Lucius is caught up in it, who could blame the boy?

Time curves and spins in iridescent slivers of bliss while they feed the insatiable magical maw that is Potter, as if pouring water through a funnel into the desert. When Lucius starts to feel the strain, it jolts him back to awareness out of a haze of pleasure. Weasley's skin feels cold and clammy; his magic still glows, but more muted now. Brushing Potter's mind once more with his own mediocre Legilimency, Lucius sees that the hole is almost covered. It makes for an interesting sight, the bright gold of Weasley's magic interwoven with Lucius' own ice-green.

He pulls the Weasley away from Potter, first mentally, then dragging him bodily backwards. The boy whimpers when Lucius' knee brushes his erection. His cheeks are suffused with a high flush, his mouth open in an unconscious grimace of lust. Lucius almost expects him to throw himself at him when the boy jerks and bites his knuckles in sheer confusion. "What-" he babbles. "God, I-"

"Oh, there is no need for shyness, Mr Weasley," Lucius purrs. "Although I'm flattered by your reaction. It will come handy when we set about to undo the transfer."

"Undo?" Weasley recoils. "But we-"

"It will take our hero a few months to replenish his own magic," Lucius explains off-handedly. "Once this has been accomplished, the power we've put inside him will begin to... fester, is probably the best word. Let me assure you, it's one of the uglier deaths a wizard could suffer. I don't think you'd want it for your friend - it would have been kinder to let him die here."

Weasley frowns. "But You-Know- Voldemort left some of his power in Harry when he tried to kill him as a baby?"

"He was an infant, Weasley." Lucius rolls his eyes at such a level of ignorance. "A wizard's magic manifests during childhood, and solidifies in adolescence. As an infant, he could just absorb alien magic - as an adult, he will die from it. Unless we take it back." His eyes come to rest on Weasley's groin with pointed focus. The boy squirms as if he'd touched him there.

"We can just take it back," he protests. "There's no need for..."

"But that's the way the spell has been designed," Lucius points out silkily. "Not to mention that the Ministry has classified draining a wizard of magic as a crime on par with an Unforgivable. Sharing in the course of sex magic, however... that's different." And Lucius would be willing to bet his manor that Scrimgeour, once acquainted with the situation, will tell Potter exactly that as a bit of purely by-the-rules payback.

A glimpse at the boy on the ground reveals that a hint of colour has returned to Potter's face and lips. His chest is rising lightly in time with his breaths. Sleeping beauty, Lucius sneers. Oh yes, he'll enjoy having them both, and watching Weasley have Potter to redress the balance.

Leaning in close enough to taste the sweat and grime on Weasley's neck, he hisses in his ear, "Everything, remember?"

The boy's face falls in defeat, and Lucius hopes he'll be able to witness Weasley telling Potter he not only incurred him a life debt, but also bound him in sexual servitude to an enemy. Still, Potter will have no choice but to comply to ensure his own survival, and Lucius is determined to wring every last bit of enjoyment out of the situation the two of them can provide.

He deserves as much, for his un-Slytherin altruism.

~ finis ~


End file.
